Talk of the Town
by MistressParamore
Summary: After a brief romance at the end of Guards! Guards! Sam Vimes ends things with Lady Ramkin. Lady Ramkin's rebound has repercussions far beyond Sam's wildest imagination. Chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Talk of the Town

**Pairing**: H. Vetinari/Sybil Ramkin/Sam Vimes (kind of!)

**Rating**: K+

**Summary**: After a brief relationship at the end of Guards! Guards! Sam ends things with Sybil. Sybil's rebound will have repercussions far beyond Sam's wildest imagination.

This is slightly AU, the characters are perhaps slightly parodied.

Read with tongue firmly in cheek.

* * *

It is said that the Gods play games with the lives of men. Some suggest that they pass the tedium of the millennia around an intergalactic chessboard, gambling with fate, the lives of men hinging upon the shake of a dice. This all sounds romantic and…preordained…until you can grasp the mindset of the average God. They don't have the imagination. Their idea of a hilarious joke is much the same as the annoying prankster who still puts whoopee cushions under people's seats. Just occasionally, for vainglorious reasons, one or two individuals might catch their eye(s). But on the whole, the Gods and Goddesses up at Cori Celestii have very little reason to concern themselves with the lives of men.

The lives of _rulers_ of men, on the other…_appendage_… now that would be much more interesting…

* * *

_**Ankh-Morpork. King of Cities! Pearl of the Sto Plains!**_

Over on the Ankhian side of the river, a disheveled Night Watchman stumbles down a long drive as the front door of the pleasant old house behind him closes sharply. He stops and bends double, whether to catch his breath or to pull himself together, is unclear. After a few moments he straightens up and continues his weaving, stumbling steps down the drive. Behind him, the lights in the downstairs rooms went out. The man stops. A gust of wind ruffles his hair. The roar he lets out seems to have been wrenched out of his very being.

In an altogether different part of the city, something very dastardly indeed is afoot….

* * *

Lady Sybil Ramkin blew out her candle and sat motionless on the settee in what Sam Vimes would eternally think of as 'the ghastly pink drawing room.' Her frame was still taut with tension and she drew several deep breaths hoping to force cleansing equilibrium to her bloodstream. She failed. She felt the hot tendrils of embarrassment squeezing her heart, the immense hurt doing little to soothe. Bringing up the rear guard was a hefty dose of anger. _Why? What did I do that was so wrong?_ The thoughts turned over and over in her mind as she sat in the dark silence. Memories floated past her mind's eye, as intangible and fragile as the first shoots of spring. She had dared to hope, hope that the fledgling romance might have blossomed. What she hadn't bargained for, was the nuances of Sam himself. She sighed and wiped a stray tear before standing up and squaring her shoulders, and climbed the ornate staircase to her bedroom - although she suspected sleep would elude her that night.

The moon threw its audacious, silvery light through the leaded windows of Lady Ramkin's bedroom, or as Nobby Nobbs would probably prefer, _boodwah_, and insouciantly illuminated the large, comfortable bed of the lady herself. Shadows were deepened, the room alight with the ethereal, almost otherworldly glow. Lady Ramkin lay on her side, staring unseeingly at the panes of the window, the moonlight merely mocking her. Such a night as this, was a night for lovers, not for spurned forty-somethings feeling dejected and old. She turned over onto her back. She wondered what he was doing right now.

* * *

Sam Vimes, erstwhile Captain of the Night Watch and extremely single, stared unsteadily at the glass in front of him. It seemed to be refilling itself - he could almost hear the liquid snarl as it sloshed up the sides of the glass. He had entertained the idea once that he should cut back on his drinking. He tried to snort in disgust at that idea, but just succeeded in a series of bubbling noises as he slid further down his stool.

_Woman. Yeah, that's what it is. City's a woman. One that accepts everything. Yeah. Kicks you in the gutter, but you can never leave_. He vaguely recalled that he was trying to forget something, but couldn't remember what..._hahahaha! Good one!_ Vimes chortled to himself.

Charlie, the bartender, propped himself up by his elbow as he stared at his customer.

"I said to her," Vimes burbled into his freshly refilled glass. "Ge' yo'sel' betterer-er," he frowned as he thought about the word, the advanced neural processing required temporarily flummoxing him. Feeling on slightly firmer ground, he giggled. "She' lady, Charlie...lady don't belong wi' me..." Vimes raised his voice.

"And who is the lady," Charlie asked in a bored voice. He was used to the drunken rumblings of the jilted, the locked out husbands, the broken-hearted and the suicidal. Sam hadn't been like this for a while. He was mildly interested.

Vimes tried to answer but could only come out with a series of esses. He tried again.

"Sssssybbbb," he frowned and tried again. "Ssssssyb-Sssssybil. A whole lotta woman, Charlie," Vimes swallowed the rest of his drink. "A whole, wholewhole lotta-a-a womanananan..." Vimes' head dipped forward onto one arm as his voice became a mumble.

Charlie paused in smearing the grime around a fresh glass. Sybil? 'A lady'? He stared at Vimes. The man was raving drunk. Not Lady Ramkin, the mad woman with dragons. The drunken, scruffy, unshaven alcoholic in front of him could not possibly have -dated?- a real, high born lady, no matter how mad.

"Really? That dragon woman?"

Vimes' head bounced gently off the bar as he slid bonelessly onto the floor. Charlie leaned over the sticky bar, staring at the heap of armour on the mouldy straw.

"You're joking, right?"

* * *

Alone in the Oblong Office, Lord Vetinari steepled his fingers and lightly rested his chin on them. If he had had a swivel chair, he would be lightly swivelling as he pondered. But he hadn't. So he didn't.

Lord Vetinari did not have psychic powers, despite the general belief of the majority of the populous. He always maintained that it was so much better to actually know what the future held, instead of guesswork, wouldn't you agree? My what a lovely crystal ball, I can see straight through it...

Lord Vetinari saw the future, and saw that it was good. A slight pulling at one corner of his mouth indicated that a small smile was trying to break loose. Finding itself all alone in unfamiliar territory, it hastily disappeared.

He picked up a small bell and rang it. Despite the lateness of the hour, his clerk, Drumknott, appeared with alacrity.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Ah, Drumknott. I believe it is time a long overdue lesson is learned."

"My lord?" Drumknott's face remained impassive.

"See that my coach is ready." He waved a thin white hand. Underneath his table a low snoring sound pierced the silent room.

"Yes, my lord." Drumknott inclined his head and noiselessly withdrew.

Lord Vetinari resisted the temptation to smooth his dark hair. The compulsion mildly irritated him. He steepled his fingers again and allowed the smallest quirk of one corner of his mouth.

* * *

_**Comments would be greatly appreciated!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Talk of the Town

**Pairing**: H. Vetinari/Sybil Ramkin/Sam Vimes (kind of!)

**Rating**: K+

**Summary**: After a brief relationship at the end of Guards! Guards! Sam ends things with Sybil. Sybil's rebound will have repercussions far beyond Sam's wildest imagination.

This is slightly AU, the characters are perhaps slightly parodied.

Read with tongue firmly in cheek.

* * *

Lady Sybil Ramkin surveyed herself in the full-length mirror dispiritedly. The gown she had chosen was a rich blue, off the shoulder style and one of her many pieces of antique jewellery glittered around her neck. Her makeup drew out the brown of her eyes, emphasizing her strong features. Her body was dressed, but her mind was not. She really did not feel like going to the dinner that evening. She knew she was at serious risk of falling into what could only be described as pining, something she would never have thought in a million years she would do. She supposed the heart felt differently to the head. She sighed and her shoulders slumped.

_That's quite enough of that_, her mind said firmly. _What's meant to be will be. None of that silly moping, be jolly grateful for what you have_. She raised her chin and met her own eyes in the mirror, the soft chocolate brown gaze holding resolutely. She really wished she didn't want him back. It would make things so much easier.

* * *

Lord Vetinari stalked through the crowd of guests at the Assassin's Guild annual charity dinner. As an alumnus, and also in his capacity of Patrician, he was expected to attend. He disliked events that forced you to make meaningless small talk, although he never found himself unduly bothered by people – the benefits of his reputation preceding him. He smirked to himself, leaning slightly against the wall behind him. He swirled the drink in his glass and watched the apparently random Brownian motion of guests milling across the floor. The slightly shiny, waxy grins of people determined to do good deeds amused him. It amused him even more to know that some of their deeds in their private lives were really very different. And yet they persisted in maintaining this charade, unaware of just how much he knew. Yes, knowledge was indeed power. And Lord Vetinari understood this well. His roving eye fell upon someone determined to remain as equally aloof as he was. Lady Sybil Ramkin was seated in one corner of the large room; periodically guests would peel off and exchange a few words with her, before disappearing back into the crowd. Lord Vetinari arched an eyebrow and a slight twitch of his mouth indicated that the sight was not unexpected. Perhaps he should pay his compliments. After all, he _did_ have standards.

Lord Vetinari moved smoothly along the outside of the room, snagging a fresh drink from one of the waiters whose tray rattled slightly in trepidation as he passed.

"Good Evening, Sybil."

Lady Ramkin started slightly at the unexpected greeting, her surprise melting into a small smile as she saw who stood next to her.

"Oh, Havelock, hello. I didn't see you there. Are you enjoying the evening?"

Lord Vetinari shrugged. "It is as expected," he returned cryptically and offered her the fresh glass.

Lady Ramkin's eyes twinkled as she surveyed her friend. "You don't change, Havelock," she said fondly, accepting the glass and taking a sip.

Lord Vetinari looked at the woman seated next to him. Despite Lady Ramkin looking as striking as usual, he could detect something different about her; her sadness could not be hidden.

Lord Vetinari sipped a drink to hide his smile. It was time to force someone's hand.

* * *

Captain Samuel Vimes took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn't. He coughed and spat out something unidentifiable that floated away in the gutter. He raised his head slightly so the dirty trickle of water continued flowing under his chin and wondered, through the pounding in his head, whether his arms and legs still worked. Groaning, he dragged himself into a sitting position. His head felt as if it was going to pop off his shoulders and the gutter water had sluiced under his armour, soaking him to the skin with water that smelled as if an incontinent dog had been using it as a lavatory. The chink of glass made him look down. An empty Bearhuggers bottle bobbed in the gutter, answering at least one question. Vimes leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and sighed heavily. It was dawn and already he was too tired. Blearily, he prised open an eye and squinted at the shop front opposite him. It was the candlemakers - above that was his room. _Couldn't even make it there, eh_? his mind jeered.

Freed from the confines of drink, his mind tumbled over with thoughts and images. With every one, his groan got louder, his head clenched between his fists. He hadn't even managed to tell Colon, Nobby or Carrot before the epic drinking started – they still thought he was with her Ladyship. _Damned stupid idea from the start_. Who the hell was he kidding thinking that that would work. They had become close purely down to being involved in the same investigation surrounding the great dragon. If he hadn't known better he would have thought that Vetinari knew about, ah, their _closeness_.

Even if you lay down in a darkened cellar and never moved for a year, you could guarantee His Lordship would whisper in your ear, "Dark in here, isn't it?" Vimes grimaced. _Since when was his personal life anything to do with him anyway_? But his mind had already supplied the answer. _When you began dating the richest woman in the city and one who was actually __**friends**__ with the Patrician. Holy shit. You're a marked man. You've upset her, she's got access to slightly more than a run of the mill thug in the Mended Drum. You're gonna be saying hello to His Lordship's scorpion pit._

Somehow he got his legs to obey his brain and pushed open the door to the stairs that led to his room, asleep before his body even hit the bed.

* * *

Willikins, Lady Ramkin's butler, discreetly entered the dining room and presented a silver salver bearing a card.

"Oh, thank you, Willikins." Lady Ramkin dabbed her mouth with a napkin as she set down her tea cup, picking up the card with her other hand.

"Lord Vetinari? What on earth…?" She stared at the card nonplussed. "Lord Vetinari requests my presence," she said with a half-smile.

"Indeed, my Lady," Willikins replied.

"I can't think what that could be," she mused. She pushed away her breakfast plate. "Please get the coach ready Willikins." She stood up and straightened her skirt. _May as well get it over with_, she thought as she left the dining room.

* * *

In the Oval Office, Lord Vetinari picked up the discreet bell on his desk. Drumknott appeared noiselessly by his side.

"My Lord?"

"When Lady Ramkin arrives please ensure we are not disturbed."

If Drumknott was surprised by this instruction, he did not show it. His face remained impassive as he murmured his assent and withdrew.

Lord Vetinari laced his fingers together and lightly rested his chin on them with an air of contemplation. It was nearly time. He smiled.

* * *

_**Comments always welcome.**_


End file.
